The three gorgeously caparisoned chamberlains, who had inducted me to the shelter, laid before me changes of raiment bedecked with every imaginable kind of frippery, and would have me transform myself into a popinjay in fashion like their own.

There's a solid, if unremarkable racing game buried underneath all this pointless frippery and camera-wobbling, but it's one that fails to provide either the dogged authenticity of Gran Turismo 5 or the balls-to-the-wall rush of Blur or Need For Speed: Hot Pursuit.